"Careful now." Hissed the young man in the boy's ear. "Don't draw to fast, you'll lose your grip." He helped the boy knock the arrow and draw it back, adding his own strength to the lad's efforts.
"Lift it up. You won't hit anything but the ground with aim like that." Grimacing slightly at the weight of the bow and the tautness of the string, the boy lifted it.
"Good. Now, sight down the shaft at the target. Do you see it?" HE said softly. The boy closed one eye, his face creased with focus and intensity. He sighted down the shaft, aiming at the center of the target.
"Got it!" He said.
"Good." The man said. "Now, release it" And with that said, the man took a step back from the boy, letting go of his arm and the bow. For a moment, the boy almost dropped the bow, the sudden weight of the draw causing him to falter for a moment. Then he regained his target, and released the shaft.
There was a hiss as the shaft flew away from the bow. The boy lowered it, watching as the arrow struck the target, slightly off his mark. He turned to his mentor, who stood with his arms crossed. There was a satisfied grin on his face.
"Not bad." He said encouragingly, coming forward and clapping the boy on the back. "Well make a ranger out of you yet, Faramir." Farmir glowed with pride.
"Farmir!" The smile disappeared of the elder man's face, and he turned to face the approaching man. "What are you doing? Playing with toys again?"
"No father." Farmir replied, lowering the bow and his gaze as Denathor approached, his capes billowing as he strode toward them, Boromir in tow.
"And you, Ranger, what are you doing here? Filling my son's head with nonsense no doubt."
"My lord." Said the ranger stiffly, bowing his head slightly. "Your son asked to be instructed in the ways of the Rangers, and I decided he had the potenti-"
"You had no right to decided anything!" Snapped the Steward angrily. "Now, back to Osgiliath with you!" The ranger bowed his head again and whirled about. As he walked past Farmir, he rested a hand on his shoulder.
"Practice your aim." He said with a slight smile. Then he walked on. Farmir turned to watch him as he left, pulling up his hood and drawing the folds of his travel stained cloak about him.
"Back to your studies Farmir." Denathor snapped, turning and walking back in the direction he had come. "Your tutors are waiting. Come Boromir, I wish to show you something my son."
As his father walked away, Farmir's grip tightened about the long bow. The ranger had been the first person, aside from Boromir, who had treated him as a person. And, as usual, his Father had ruined what he had found joy in.
Farmir turned to look at the target, and where his first arrow stood, buried in it. It was then, that he swore to himself, he would become a Ranger of Ithillein.